


Hhrnnrjdj Ambedous and Cross

by Vacuumcantwrite_4shit



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:28:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22320304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacuumcantwrite_4shit/pseuds/Vacuumcantwrite_4shit
Summary: Uurrnghhhh it’s their story. It’s so shitty and I haven’t read it over so please excuse the spelling mistakes, one person who reads this
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Hhrnnrjdj Ambedous and Cross

He tapped his foot, impatiently. Each time the hard bottom of his shoe tapped the glass floor, a quiet tap could be heard.   
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.   
In the atrium he stood in, constructed of smooth pillars and floors of glass, the sound echoed. His reflection glared back at him faintly from the floor and from the low glass ceiling as well.  
Beneath the floor, clearly visible, was nothing. Not nothing, of course, nothing resided somewhere in the universe the angel didn’t care to know, but there was empty sky. Pale blue, nearly white, as if the sky in its entirety, or at least the sky visible beneath him, had been taken with two strong hands and wrung like an old washrag until the color ran down the wrists in blue rivulets. 

Occasionally a cloud drifted by, but they provided little entertainment. Empty swaths of white blown by strong winds, and nothing else, at least not to him. Frozen masses, spicules of ice. A hollow wind was blowing through the atrium, giving a low moaning sound which the angel found vaguely unpleasant, but did not feel the need to focus on. What he did need to focus on was the arrival of his partner. His partner, who was taking his damn time. 

Footsteps, interrupting the steady beat of his own tapping foot, came up behind him. He turned, expectantly, and his face fell back into irritation when he saw it was only the angel who worked in this particular department. His hair was uncombed, and the suit he was wearing was rumpled, in the manner of most angels. A manner of cheer and goodwill which frankly, the angel himself was tired of. His own hair was combed in some manner, large tufts of black in a vague state of neatness. His entire body was a solid black matte color, except for the patchy blue which started at his collarbone and crept up his neck, fading back into black around his eyes, which were as blank and white as the clouds under his feet. His eyes were hidden, at the moment, by a pair of sunglasses which were pure white as well. He wore them because the light in heaven was almost always irritatingly bright. And, perhaps, because he didn’t like eye contact. Not perhaps. Despite having no pupils, eye contact was something he despised. All angels had blank eyes. Symbolizing purity, it was like a collar, and sometimes the angel wished his eyes had some kind of color. It wasn’t a choice, of course. It was him as he had been created, and he was not allowed to change this. What he was allowed to change, however, was his outfit, but he wore the same white suit every single day. It was professional, and the other angels usually didn’t seem to spend as much time thinking about these things as he did. 

In the good old days, he’d worn a robe, but times were different now. 

In the back of his coat there were two large slits cut where both his wings arched from his back. They were as neat as he could manage, but it was difficult to reach over and touch the furthest parts that reached away, even when they were pressed to his back. Of course, over the millennia, an angel or two had offered to preen them, as they were always helping each other in some way or another. He had declined, gruffly, both irritated that his wings were in such a state of disorder that they had noticed, and irritated at the thought of hands besides his own combing through the haphazard feathers. So he left them as they were, pretending not to notice the raggedy state they had fallen into. 

The angel who had just walked up to him smiled, his eyes a jarring black in contrast to his white body. The angels ranged in color, but they were all monochrome, like vintage photographs with a single stroke of color. From behind his head spanned outwards rays of light in a band, like a lunar halo. The halos of angels were not rings suspended above their heads as common tropes told, but instead made it looked like they had a lightbulb strapped to the back of their head. It was golden white in color, but refracted light made multiple colors tint the edges at certain angles. The angel himself had a halo, of course, but the light was dim. They were connected to emotion after all, and he could not remember the last time he had genuinely smiled. Of course, it was a long time to think back over, as he had been created fourteen thousand two hundred and six years ago. 

The angel looked somewhat similar to him in physical structure, though less thin and upright. As they all had, he had been created with and retained the sculpt of a human adult in their mid-forties, never aging. The proper name was immortality. Kind of. There were only two ways a celestial could die. One, if the wounds were inflicted by a celestial or with a celestial weapon, and two, if a demon was injured with holy water or an angel with hellfire. 

Sometimes the happy, forced attitudes of the other angels made him want to step into hell and set himself on fire. 

The angel standing across from him was holding a clipboard, unnecessarily made of glass. He flipped up a paper, scanning it with a smile still on his face. His wings, perfectly preened, of course, were dilated to their full size of thirty feet, the long tips dragging far behind him. As he flipped through his papers, humming, they drew in, slowly, shrinking to about the size the waiting angel had them at, the wrists of the wings lifting curving around his shoulders. “So,” the white angel said, “your partner is late.” His voice was musical in essence, a comforting semi-baritone. The dark angel’s voice was gruff and irritated, as he usually was. “I noticed,” he said. His foot tapped.   
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.   
He was beginning to wonder if this was a nervous habit. The dark angel pressed his foot to the floor, silencing it. “Who is it, anyway?” he asked. “Nobody’s told me anything.” Only “Hey you, go to earth for routine surveillance, despite no one having gone to earth in literal centuries, take all the time you need, blah blah blah. Oh, and you’ll have a randomly assigned associate to work with even though we’re fully aware you’re capable of working by yourself.” This last part of his statement he nearly growled, the fact that they thought he needed a partner had gotten quite under his skin. The other angel, his halo pulsing, smiled, again. “Buck up! I’m sure you’ll enjoy the company.” He lifted another paper, scanning the words. And laughed. “Oh! Ha-ha! Look at this! You’ve got a DEMON for a partner! Maybe you’ll actually get along with someone for once, Ha-ha-ha!” He doubled over with laughter. The dark angel reached over grabbed the clipboard from him to see if he was telling the truth. 

He was.

The dark angel gripped the clipboard and inhaled sharply. “What? Why? How did they even allow this? I thought…” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I thought that our sides were in constant dispute. That’s our whole thing. Good. Bad. Separate.” The white angel lifted himself. “Ahe-he-he… guess not.” He wiped his eyes, chuckling. The dark angel had no idea why he found this funny. “What makes you say we’ll ‘get along’, me and them?” The white angel folded his arms. “Because, my good fellow, you’re the grumpiest angel I’ve ever met. Always frowning, always so serious. Maybe you belong in the dark corridor, ha-ha!” He made to poke the dark angel jokingly in the ribs, but he jumped away quickly. “Listen here, you,” he started to say. But he was interrupted, with a cry from behind. “HEY! Hi! Hello!” Both angels turned. Walking up to them was a figure, advancing. From the sound of their voice, they were male, and as they walked up, the dark angel could tell they were. He was, of course, a demon. 

His attire was completely black and his figure soft. He didn’t look… sharp and angular, like demons usually did. He looked welcoming. He looked wrongly ethereal.  
His suit was rumpled and torn. It was only half a suit as the coat was missing, but the black dress shirt with the neat collar remained. He wore a short black tie. It was torn, the bottom half missing and looking like it had either been ripped off or bitten off. He was a solid black color, like the angel, and up his throat crept a heavy sweep of demonic red. His eyes were white as well, his hair tufted up messily amidst two long, curving horns growing from his head. Around one horn was a band of gold, looking like a bracelet. The angel recognized the band as one which allowed the non-divine to walk around “upstairs.” Or, the more common nickname, “The White Corridor.” If he was not wearing the band, the ground to him would be like holy water to the demons, like hellfire was to angels. It would hurt. Burn, specifically. 

Angels had to wear a similar band when going “downstairs,” but those visits were rare. Hell was a dark place, and, surprise, it was constantly on fire. Much like a crowded, filthy city, it was dark and disgusting, all inhabitants miserable and rotting. But that was what hell was supposed to be like, of course. Heaven had a pleasantly cool temperature, and on the inside of the massive modern glass building (one of thousands) the angels worked in, it was bright (the light not coming from any particular source) and cold. Especially in the atrium the angel was standing in. It stretched for miles. Cold enough that if the angel had a circulatory and respiratory system in any way similar to a human, when he exhaled a white cloud of air would have dissipated into the air. The angels did bleed, of course, but their body temperature did not rely on their blood, nor the movement of it. Blood could be considered a personal choice, by some. The angel himself did have blood in his body, but did not bleed. And did not feel pain, obviously. Who would want that? He didn’t know, and had never truly experienced pain. He hadn’t actually been in any situation where he might have come to harm in all his years of existence, sheltered up in heaven and never venturing beyond it. He was gruffly loyal to the bureaucratic side of heaven, and was always willing to complete work in a professional manner. 

The demon put his hand out. “It’s lovely to meet you!” He said. His voice was mellifluous, the voice of one was perpetually cheerful. The dark angel reached out and shook his hand. His grip was surprisingly gentle. It felt more like they were two close friends calmly holding hands instead of greeting each other, and this made him blush faintly. Embarrassed, the angel took his hand away.  
The demon spoke. “My name is Ambedous.” The angel frowned. “What?” He said. The demon smiled. “Yes. I know, it’s a bit of a mouthful. I’ve been told it sounds a bit angelic but I can’t go around changing my name here and there, now can I? It’s Am-bed-awz, spelled A-M-B-E-D-O-U-S. Though you can pronounce it any way you want, I don’t mind at all!” He laughed softly. The angel nodded at him, slowly. The white angel butted in. “Ah, yes! We’ve been known to have strange names in the white corridor. My name is Lumin.” The dark angel turned to look at him. He hadn’t known that, having never formally met this particular angel before. Lumin met his gaze. “What’s your name?” He murmured. “I don’t believe we’ve actually introduced ourselves to each other.” He looked at the dark angel expectantly, and the demon Ambedous peered at him as well. With their eyes on him, the angel fidgeted. “I…” He began. “Well… to be honest, I don’t have one.” Ambedous and Lumin did a simultaneous double take. “You don’t have a name?” The demon said. His tail kicked from side to side. “I thought that all you angels had holy names. Like… tags. Something that read who you are.” The angel was surprised that Ambedous knew this, but didn’t show it. “Yes.”   
“Then… why don’t you have one?”  
His mouth twisted and he frowned menacingly behind his white sunglasses. “I did. But… it’s been… a very long time… since… I last… heard… it.” This phrase was spoken so slowly that at first Ambedous’ face screwed up in confusion, and then clarity. “You haven’t used your name in so long you’ve forgotten it?” His voice was so soft, so unlike that of a demon, it made the angel shiver. His face burned in embarrassment as well, at the admittance that he had forgotten his own name. Along with this came the unspoken fact that he had never even gotten close enough to anybody for them to stick by his side and talk to him. He kept to himself and did the work he was given, building up walls and continuing a cold personality. “Well…” Ambedous fidgeted nervously. “Can I… um… give you some kind of nickname? Could you tell me what you’d like me to call you? I can’t go around calling you something. ” The angel nodded, angry at his own embarrassment and angry at the demon for making him feel embarrassed. Ambedous thought for a second. “Well,” he said. “How about… Cross? Y’know, because...” He made a nervous tapping gesture on his palm, wondering how the angel would react.  
The angel himself didn’t know how he felt. He had never been named before. Or at least… named a second time. Lumin was watching with wide eyes, his head turning between the two. 

The demon looked nervously at the angel, at his blank glasses, and smiled.

Cross smiled back.  
“Sure,” he said. “You can call me that.”

Lumin laughed, not unkindly. “Well, look at that! You’ve only just met and you’re already naming each other.”   
He gestured at Cross. “Well, I must be going. You’ve got the thing, right? The watch thing?” He gestured aimlessly. Cross pulled back his sleeve to reveal the watch on his wrist. “Obviously,” he said, a bit of an edge to his voice. Lumin nodded, and then walked away. He slipped off the edge of the glass atrium floor and was gone, flying. Cross watched him go.

Ambedous had his own pair of wings, the wings of a bat. Not many demons used their wings, only those created in the beginning times still chose to wear them resting on their back. They thought them to be unnecessary. This gave Cross some key to how old Ambedous was. Not as old as he was, but still. He’d been around for a while. At the moment, the wings were the size of his hands, pressed to the worn black cloth of his suit. They were quite torn and didn’t look as if they could support him at all, even when dilated. Ambedous caught Cross’ gaze on his back and smiled. “They’re a bit scruffy, I know,” he said. “Although I’m one of only a few who still have them.” He flexed his shoulders and they sprang outwards, unfurling to their full size, thirty feet of strained bone and what resembled fine black leather. They were full of holes and tears, especially at the tips, some of which looked like they might have been inflicted. On purpose. 

A slight shiver ran down Cross’ spine. Ambedous noticed the pitying note in his gaze and pulled them in tightly to his body, returning them to their small size. He sighed.  
“They don’t take cheerfulness kindly in hell.” 

Cross bit his lip hard enough that if he could have, he would have felt pain. “But you don’t… feel pain, right?” It was all he could think to say, as he was generally inexperienced when it came to expressing emotion, despite the fact that angels were basically made for detecting emotion and feeling emotion. And right now, what he could feel practically radiating off Ambedous, was happiness. Pure, unfiltered joy, and under that was relief. Relief that… he was no longer in hell, at least for the time being. 

In the demon’s aura which was weaker than it should have been, Cross could feel pain. There was joy, fear, pain, guilt, disappointment, anxiety, some kind of unwillingness. Cross, as said, was terrible at acting on what he saw in others auras, especially ones as complicated as Ambedous’. He looked away, ignoring the invisible tug the demon’s aura had on his own. Like a hurt animal begging wordlessly for help, the demon’s subconscious, riddled with conflicting emotions demons were not supposed to feel, was crying out. And Cross ignored it, or at least tried to. He had no business meddling in the affairs of others. But the pain was what bothered him. He had never felt pain, as stated, so detecting this emotion was foreign to him. But there it was, prickling on the surface of his skin. It made his stomach churn, being in the proximity of this other celestial, one who had obviously experienced severe pain in his past. It also made Cross feel somewhat… guilty. Guilty because he had never felt pain and the demon had felt so much. But this wasn’t his fault, and he gritted his teeth against his own aura and that of the demon as they clawed at him, silently.

“Are you okay?”  
Cross looked up. Surprised, he realized he had been standing inches away from the demon for about five minutes, his face contorted, absolutely silent. He stepped back, wings tight. “Yes. Sorry. I…sorry.” Ambedous tilted his head quizzically, his own sparse halo of infernal energy crackling silently. “I don’t mean to be rude, but… could you perhaps not read my mind?”   
Cross nearly jumped out of his wings. “What?” He stammered. “I’m not.” The demon sighed. “Well… perhaps that wasn’t the best wording. I know that angels can read auras, and I know that mine is a bit…” he looked at his feet, at his worn black shoes. “Unhealthy.” He looked back up at Cross. “I don’t want… I don’t want to be upsetting in any way, so… for your sake, keep out, please. I’m really sorry I’m like this.”  
Cross was flabbergasted.   
“No, no, no! I’m sorry!” He gave a nervous laugh. “I can’t really… turn it off, but I’ll keep my distance.” He paused. “If you want me to.”   
At the moment, he wasn’t keeping his distance. He was sifting through the emotions surrounding him as thoroughly as possible, looking for some feeling that might explain this. He found nothing.

Clearing his throat, Cross pulled back his sleeve and looked at the watch, which was not really a watch. Ambedous leaned over and looked at it. “What’s that?” He said. “It’s a transporter,” Cross said. “Sounds really futuristic, but really, it only works for those who are metaphysical. Since it would take us much too long to fly down to Earth, it takes us there. The watch was a spinning mechanism composed of many small gears, which Cross suddenly realized he had no idea how to use. “Um.” He said. He glanced around them for Lumin or any other angel, but no one else was there. The atrium went on for miles, and they were at the edge of it. There was no one in sight. Cross growled under his breath at the delay, or at least a delay he had no control over. (Specified since he had just wasted five minutes messing around trying to read a demon’s aura.) But this was technical, and his lack of control pissed him off. Ambedous reached for it, saying “can I try?” Cross frowned. “It’s not a toy.” He pushed his shirt sleeve roughly back over it. In doing so, one of the gears caught in the cuff of his sleeve and turned with a click. Cross and Ambedous both stared at his wrist, unsure of what that had done. It clicked once more, hummed, and then neither angel nor demon were there anymore, leaving no life in the atrium of glass and no sound but the empty wind. 

Cross reappeared. He did so with a shout and a loud crack. He reappeared, but instead of the glass floor resting smoothly under his feet, there was the rough, uneven surface of… a tree branch. He had manifested on a tree branch. Cross swore, arms pinwheeling, and then thrust his wings outwards, unfurling them and dilating them to their full length. The long, ragged white tips strained at the air, flexing, and weighed down his back enough that he fell into balance. Cross gripped the trunk tightly, panting. It had been a while since his wings had last been fully dilated, and the feeling of the air tickling the hot curves of muscle and feather was strange. He brought them forth, but one wing hit something on his left. Cross turned. 

There first seemed to be nothing there, but then the air crackled darkly and Ambedous burst from the separate plane, the dark corridor, where Cross had thought he might get snagged. He appeared as if he had been running, and he nearly catapulted himself straight off the branch in a neat dive. Cross grabbed him by one horn in the nick of time, beating his wings and struggling to yank Ambedous up into a sitting position. “Ow!” Said Ambedous. “Thank you, but ow.” He rubbed his head at the base of his horn. Cross blinked. He hadn’t remembered that demons felt pain, and hadn’t thought about the fact that yanking on a part of someone’s skull that hard would hurt. Ambedous pushed out his wings, the long spines of bone stretching out the torn skin. Cross still couldn’t help but stare at them and wonder how the demon could possibly fly with them. As he beat them slightly in order to gain his balance as he stood, Ambedous winced slightly, and his aura pricked at Cross even more. Ambedous stood, and then leaned back slightly, wings beating. “Whoa!” He exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing Cross by the arm to steady himself. Cross started, his breath catching in his throat and his heart stuttering. This was, actually, the first time in thousands of years he had been touched and it was an unwelcome feeling. The demon must have felt him tense because he paused, and then dropped his hand. “Sorry,” he said softly. Cross said nothing. 

Distracted, Cross looked down. He could see the ground, patchy green grass, about thirty feet down. The tree had many branches sticking out every which way, and there were broken branches littering on the ground. “So, are we going to fly down?” The unspoken question underneath this statement shivered. Can you fly down?   
As it turned out, asking this was unnecessary. A faint sound, a sound of breaking, came from under their feet. “What’s that sound?” The demon asked. Cross shifted his feet. “I think the branch is-”  
The branch broke and they both plummeted downwards. 

Cross opened his eyes. A curious numbness had taken over his entire left side. His glasses were still on his face, but they were completely broken. Cross tapped the frame and they came back together, darkening his vision once more. He lifted his head. He was lying on the ground, sprawled out. Damn it. I didn’t have time to even beat my wings once. I must have looked like a complete idiot. I’ll bet Ambedous stuck the landing.  
Ambedous. Where was the demon, anyway? Was he okay? Cross looked to his side, only moving his head. He saw a pair of scuffed black shoes and the ragged hems of black pants. “There you are,” he said, only his voice sounded strange. Kind of slurred.  
His left side felt rather hot, like it was burning. Ambedous knelt down. His eyes were wide. “Um.” He said. “Are you going to… heal yourself? Can you?” Cross frowned. “What?” he mumbled, the words spilling thickly from his mouth. He tried to sit up, but, out of nowhere, something washed over him. Something that made him desperately want to scream, but his jaw was clenched shut. Something, that after a few moments, he realized was pain. 

His wing was broken. A sharp bone jutted from the white feathers, and from it a golden liquid was gushing violently. Blood. As hot tears filled his eyes without warning, Cross shuddered, his fingers digging into the ground, and the bone slipped back into the wing, slowly. The flow of blood was stemmed, but the ground and his feathers were tainted in gold. With the healing, the pain vanished, and his head fell back to the ground, his breath uneven. “God DAMN IT!” He shouted. “HOW THE HELL WAS THAT POSSIBLE?”   
Silence.   
A quiet voice.   
“Uh… are you okay?”  
Cross got up slowly, trying to brush the dirt off his previously pristine suit to no avail.   
“Not really. I’m confused if you hadn’t noticed,” he growled.   
Ambedous tilted his head. “I thought angels can’t feel pain,” he said. Cross nodded, sharply. “That’s why I’m confused.” Cross snapped his wings inward and out of the physical plane, leaving his back empty and blank. He paused. He pushed them back out, wanting the heavy warmth on his shoulders. “Is it…” came the demon’s voice… “because we’re on earth?”   
This put a stopper in the angel’s breath.   
Was it? Shit.   
Shit, shit, shit, shit.   
Shit, thought the angel. And fuck.  
The existence of these impure words in his head gave him a headache, his temple throbbing. He stopped… thinking them, and looked up. “Sorry,” was all he said, his headache lessened.  
“What?” Asked Ambedous. “Nothing, nothing.” He rubbed his jaw. “I think that you’re right. Whatever celestial… form angels must have that can’t feel pain, it must not… exist on earth. Like… I’m… physical? So…” he sighed. “I need to be careful, then. No falling out of trees.” Ambedous smiled. “It’s fine, really,” he said. “You just need to be quick on your toes.” He patted Cross on the shoulder. 

Cross didn’t reply. This was becoming a habit.

The two walked away, uncertain of what to do next. Cross had snapped his fingers briskly to clean up the stains of blood he’d left on the ground, but only some of it dissipated. His powers were quite meager without the metaphysical breathing room they usually had. The grass that was still dripping with blood grew upwards shakily until it became a large patch of twisted, white flowers. Along the stems were angry-looking thorns. “Huh,” Ambedous had remarked. “I didn’t know that angel blood did that.” Cross had just shrugged. Neither had he. He’d never been on earth before. 

As they walked, the grass gradually lengthened until it was knee-deep, tickling their legs. Cross had hoped he could use his watch to know where they were, but it was shattered. He had landed on it when he had fallen. (Ambedous has landed neatly, rolling on the ground in an effort to not break any bones, and succeeding.) 

The banished pain stayed with Cross, still made him shiver. He felt even worse for the demon now, now that he had had a slight brush with what the demon must have experienced on a much more severe level, and for much longer. He had no idea how long, exactly, but if it had actually reached far enough to touch his aura then it had to at least been… a very, very, very long time.   
The angel was glad he did not reside in the dark corridor. 

The sky overhead began to redden near the skyline. It was late in the evening, the sun setting at a late hour due to it being midsummer. The angel and demon did not know this, of course, and were coming into this whole “being on earth” thing rather cluelessly. Neither had ever been on earth before, and knew very little of it. Of course, both knew vaguely of the various accomplishments and idiotic things going on down there, as they were the common talk of both realms. Ambedous knew of things like the holocaust, and Cross knew of things like the discovery of the vaccine for smallpox. In terms of the other side’s ongoings, angels were often complaining about the demons and vice versa. They had some vague idea of the yin, yang, and everything in between quality of earth.   
But not of things like the feeling of the tall grass against their fingertips, or the damp, cool feeling of the air, or the way the sunlight seemed to have its own warm scent. Not the feeling of the earth under their shoes, nor the sound that the wings of a bird gave when flying overhead.   
Cross wasn’t one to appreciate or notice beauty, and if he did it was something others usually didn’t care for. Ambedous, however, was flouncing through the grass like a human being, awash with a rare love that made demons violently ill. But at the moment, Ambedous seemed fine. His aura was practically beaming, and the pain had sifted to the bottom. For the time being.

Cross was becoming increasingly irritated. Here they were, traipsing through a field without a care in the world, when there was WORK to be done! Things to… survey. Yes. However that was supposed to be started. And… completed, now that he thought of it. The description of the job he had been given had been quite vague.   
“Now, you, we’re sending you down to earth to survey things, get in the general layabout, eh? Good. And try to loosen up a bit.”   
This, to say the least, pissed him right off. Getting such a sparsely worded description of a job, something that was to be taken seriously, made him want to punch a wall. Or someone else. To the point that now, as he walked, he was grinding his teeth. His canines were rather sharp, and the demon’s teeth were even sharper. If he turned his head to look at Ambedous now, he could see his mouth open in delight, and in his mouth a set of surprisingly white and not as surprisingly (for he was a demon, they all were expected to have sharp bits) pointy teeth. They were quite… fangular, to say the least, and looked as if the slightest nip would draw blood. Cross squeezed his eyes shut, wondering why he was so lost in thought regarding his associate’s teeth. He cleared his throat. 

As they walked, aimlessly, Cross began to hear noise. Not a natural noise, but something he could describe, (though he did not know where this came from,) as “road rage.” A cacophony of angry beeping and honking, and the rasp of car tires on the asphalt. The road came into view. It was the highway, a long, endless gray stretch, and there was a long line of cars each containing a person or two who thought that they were right and everyone else was wrong and were showing this by laying hands on their respective horns. It all emitted a harsh aura that hurt the angel’s ears like the pressure change on an airplane. It was uncomfortable, and he cringed as they stepped closer. Ambedous, however, had his eyes closed and his mouth twisted. He seems as if he was trying to prevent himself from feeling… anything.  
Oh. Huh. The angel had forgotten that demons felt a kind of… satisfaction when coming across clearly negative auras, the only ones they were able to detect. But, from the look on Ambedous’ face, this satisfaction was not welcome, as it must have reminded him of… who he was, really. Though he already knew, Cross asked. “What’s wrong?” The demon tensed. “Well, you know… it feels… tingly, I guess. Like the infernal energy in my atoms like it, but I don’t.” He rubbed his brow. “Whatever. Anyways. Let’s get across this damn road, I don’t like it.”

As they hopped dangerously across the road, a thought came to the angel’s mind, that of if bad things make them feel satisfaction, and bad things make angels feel… uncomfortable, then what does being happy all the time do to him? He glanced at the demon, bounding cheerfully in the bushes. It was strange, coming across someone so desperate to be happy he’d sacrifice his well-being for it. Did that even make sense? To the angel, it didn’t, but he knew less than most. 

He finished crossing the car-studded road (He wasn’t worried about being seen by the drivers, as they were both completely invisible) and followed Ambedous back into the tangled field bracken. Cross noted, glumly, that the front of his suit and all down his pants were stained brown. Dirt. Lucky demon, swathed in black. His soft and gentle figure looked like a hole cut out of the universe, so wholly dark it was negative space. The only color was the soft red that hugged his neck. Looking at this color, Cross unconsciously rubbed his own brush of blue. 

He walked through the brush, leaves, and twigs scratching at his suit. Great, thought the angel. He was becoming more disheveled by the minute. He hoped nobody Up There was watching at the moment, he’d never live it down. Tsk. Cross tried to tap his chest to dissipate the dirt, but it didn’t work. Some tears sealed, but that was all. 

The sky was growing darker with every passing minute, colors fluctuating across the clouds. To human eyes it was a pale pink, but to Cross’ eyes, it was a shade of purplish-blue, clouds lit up gold by the setting sun.   
It was, though the angel would never admit it, beautiful. 

Cross started up a stream of grumbling under his breath, muttering things like “Damned angels couldn’t even tell me what to do, just sending me off on my way without a care in the world. How true to them.” He also muttered “They’re always calling me bitter and irritable. And maybe they’re right, and maybe it’s just that they’re all just… too nice.” Even he could tell this was a bit dumb, the moment after it left his mouth. Specifically, his clenched jaw. 

His aura must have slipped a bit negatively because he was suddenly aware that Ambedous was suddenly aware. Of him. Not his thoughts, of course, but the negative side of his projected emotions which demons could detect, unlike the angel’s ability to sense all emotions. Good or bad. The demon seemed tense, like he wanted to ask why the angel’s aura was suddenly visible, mentally, to him. He fidgeted, stepping widely over a small boulder that was in his path. He opened his mouth, closed it. Silence. “Are… you all right? I know I asked you to keep out of my own aura, but it’s… it’s strange for a demon to be able to sense an angel’s aura. Because-”  
Cross cut him off. “I know.” This caused a slight spike in the demon’s aura, something which made Cross instantly vaguely ashamed. The demon was only concerned, and Cross supposed part of the reason behind his angry reaction was the… confusion that a demon would act like this. 

He focused on the ground under his feet. There were rocks and boulders, an increasing amount, and he was starting to have to walk around and over them. Ambedous was putting a bit of hop his step, bouncing over rocks he could just walk around. His tail was flickering back and forth, a whip with a bit of wing-like material at the tip. Mesmerized, Cross only looked away when he nearly tripped over a jagged rock. He stumbled, swore, swore again at the pain it sent through his head, swore a third time, fourth time, and then shut up. His wings slid out further, acting on the unconscious desire for balance after his having tripped. He focused on his feet for a few steps and then collided right into the demon. 

Cross, embarrassed, looked up to where the demon was staring. Spreading up from the ground was a tall, rocky cliff face. It was quite high, and Cross couldn’t really see the top. There was sparse grass that clustered in various places going up the face. “Do you see that?” Asked the demon. Cross looked at him with the most sarcastic stare he could manage. “You mean the gigantic rock face directly in front of us? Yeah, I think I do.” Unable to detect his sarcasm or just not caring, Ambedous moved forwards, placing a hand on the rock. He paused. “Let’s climb it!” Came his voice. Cross furrowed his brow. “What? Why?” Ambedous had already stepped onto the rocky wall. “To get to the top.” Cross walked over to the cliff’s bottom. “You… can’t we… can’t you fly?” The demon nodded, climbing further upwards. “I’ve got a good reason. Since this is our first time here, on earth, we shouldn’t do what we’d normally do. Skip the shortcut. Experience things! And stuff.” His ragged wings fluctuated, trying to stop him from losing his balance. For a moment, watching him climb alone, Cross actually had the notion to join him. Oh dear. That most certainly isn’t a good idea. There’s only one reason why you’d want to climb that and it’s because it’s with him. He shivered, shaking away the thought, and dilated his wings. With two steps and one strong stroke, he was airborne, and the ground fell away in a blur. He didn’t look at Ambedous’ face as he passed him, nor did he hear him mutter “Have fun being boring,” despite the small smile on his face as if he knew why Cross had opted out of going with him. 

Cross reached the top about thirty seconds later. He couldn’t say the same for Ambedous. It took him over an hour until he finally flopped over the side, panting, wings in the air. He pulled his whole body over the edge and lay there for a few moments, breathing heavily. He looked up, expecting to see Cross right there and a harsh word in his throat, but Cross was further down. He was standing still and thoughtfully, gazing outwards at the view and flexing his wings slowly. Ambedous got up and brushed himself off. He stepped over to the angel and gazed out at the horizon. The sky was a solid black except for the last few shards of purplish-blue that seemed to melt right down into the dark water of the ocean. He looked at Cross, secretly pleased he couldn’t feel the angel’s aura. Very secretly. He hoped. He didn’t know whether or not he should say something, or if he was just supposed to stand there and be quiet, mirroring the angel. All he wanted, really, was for the angel to be happy. He had a bad habit of getting quickly attached to people who most certainly were not attached back. Sometimes the demon wished that his kind were able to sense emotions besides pain and negativity. So he could know.  
Oh, if only he could know.  
Know if he didn’t need to constantly keep his aura under check, dampen the emotion he was most afraid of.  
Love.   
Which he wasn’t supposed to feel.  
He was a demon. His soul, or lack thereof, was incapable of love. Lust, perhaps. But not love.   
This was one of the reasons why he had been abused, tortured, really, for the last thousand years. Or two, or three. He lost count. But at the end of it, when they had forced him out to take this job, he had promised himself he would never feel anything he wasn’t supposed to, anything he wasn’t allowed to, ever again.  
Yet here he was. 

They stood wordlessly side by side.  
Cross’ wings, curving round his shoulders, were dilated enough for the ragged tips to rest on the ground. The demon had already noticed the state of the angel’s wings earlier but hadn’t mentioned it to him. He wanted to ask. Don’t you angels love doing things for each other? Y’know… being helpful and kind and saintly and stuff? Ambedous suspected he wouldn’t get an answer out of the angel. Pride, he thought. He doesn’t want to admit his wings are in this state. Weighed down with dead feathers and all mussed up, the poor things. If he had a heart, it would ache.   
The demon wasn’t one to judge the state of another’s wings, he knew. His own wings were… nearly shredded, basically. He could fly, but with some difficulty. It had taken him a long time to remember how to relearn how, After.   
Capital A After. The worst kind of after. 

The demon’s wings could not be healed as they had been marked with an unholy sigil, but the angel’s wings could certainly be fixed. If they were only groomed by someone else, he imagined the angel might feel less discomfort and even fly better. Ambedous wondered what angel wings felt like, perhaps cool, perhaps warm, perhaps smooth. He wanted to offer, but it was unnecessary. The answer would be no.   
Right? Right. Yes. Totally.   
He had no need to ask.  
Absolutely no need…   
“Hey.”  
The angel turned his head. “Mm?”  
“I… um. Your wings. They’re a bit… uh… disheveled.” He cringed inwardly after saying this. You’re messing this all up.  
The angel didn’t change his expression, but his mouth twisted. “I noticed,” he said, in a flat tone of voice. “Can’t really reach them. And I don’t like the other angels touching them.”   
Ah, of course. He was basically telling him to fuck off. He doesn’t like the other angels touching them. 

But I’m not an angel.

He put his hand to his chest, slowly. “I… can try to fix them up a bit. If you want.”   
Shit. Fuck. You’re killing yourself. Look at him. He’s… he’s…   
smiling?   
Cross tightened his wings to his back, pausing, and then loosened them.  
“You want to?” He asked. Underneath these words was the question Why do you care? About me?   
“Well… yeah. I care.” About you. About you. About you.  
“About the well-being of others.”  
Cross laughed, softly. “And you call yourself a demon,” he said, not unkindly. I wish I didn’t have to, Ambedous thought.   
The angel sighed. “Only if you want to,” he said. He turned sideways, tentatively offering one snow-white wing. Oh dear. Oh my. I didn’t think he’d actually let me.   
The demon reached out one hand and touched it to the cool, ragged surface of Cross’ wing. He felt it twitch under his touch as Cross stiffened, obviously not sure how he felt about a foreign touch on his wings, one of the most precious things to an angel. But his halo seemed to be glowing a little brighter, Ambedous noticed. It had been so dim the whole time he’d forgotten the angel actually had one. The demon’s own demonic halo of infernal energy, a ring devoid of light, was not connected to emotion the way the angel’s were. It was just… there.   
He ran his fingers down the feathered surface, and paused when he felt a feather out of place. It was bent in half and dead, but still stubbornly stuck in the other feathers. He worked it out. Ambedous twirled it between his fingers, admiring it. Instead of dropping it, he placed it in his pocket.

The demon worked his way through the angel’s wings, pulling out dead feathers and pinfeathers as slowly as possible as to not cause the angel any pain. It took a long time, as they were as messy and haphazard as his own wings. Perhaps not as much, or at least when he was done. 

The entire time, the angel had remained stiff and still, only jumping slightly every time a particularly stuck feather was pulled out. When Amebdous finished, he ran his hands over the smooth surface, incredibly pleased with himself. He was sorry he had to finish, take his hands away from the now pristine wings. He dropped his arms to his sides. “Well… there you go,” he said. “Is that okay?” The angel turned his head, looking at him, folding in his wings. He looked like he was trying not to smile.  
“It’s alright,” he said, softly.   
The demon understood. 

A cool breeze blew through his hair, and Ambedous arched his wings outwards to welcome it. Several small feathers were shaken loose from the collection in his pocket and were carried away in the wind. The demon exhaled, slowly. Everything was so… quiet. The world had suddenly shifted into its lowest gear.   
The angel’s voice startled him from the silence.   
“I like the view.”  
It was a simple statement, but a statement nonetheless. It echoed.   
“Me… me too.”  
A simple statement in return.  
It was a nice view, to be honest.   
The sky was completely black now, though to their eyes it had an inky blue tinge. There were no stars. Light pollution. The only lights they could see were the glittering yellow specks patterning the buildings down on the beachfront and beyond. Cross spoke again. “I’ve seen lots of tapestries in the sky. Actet, Detriel, Adakiel, the rest of the so-and-sos who think they’re all that, they love to do things with clouds.” He gestured. “Big clouds with sunbeams shining through to the ground, lit up in gold and such. And the stars, they love to make them… visible, I guess. Shooting stars.” He exhaled. “So, what I’m trying to say is that I've seen a lot.” The demon was confused. Was he bragging? It didn’t sound like it. Cross continued. “I’ve seen a lot, but…”  
But?  
“It never felt real.”  
“What?”  
“I don’t know, I just… it felt like I was viewing it all from behind a screen, or a photograph. Fake, I guess. Set up. The sky never really seemed… real.”  
Ambedous had no idea what to say.  
Cross was still talking. “…but now…   
It seems real, I guess. Because I’m here, and not there.” He turned to look at the demon. The demon stared at him, his eyes wide as saucers. Cross made a face. “What?” Ambedous closed his eyes and shook his head, smiling. “Nothing.”   
The demon was extremely aware of the angel’s hand dangling by his own. He flexed his fingers without thinking, reaching-  
And yanked his hand to his chest.   
What the heaven are you doing? Idiot!   
He was suddenly struck through with embarrassment.   
Oh He stepped forth, wings in the air.

Ambedous was ready to nervously to launch himself off the cliff, when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt collar and pulled him back, keeping a tight hold. He swallowed. “Um,” was all he could say.  
From behind him came Cross’ voice.  
“What do you think you’re doing, running off like that? We have a job to do.” He closed his eyes with a righteous expression and began to speak. “We’re on the job because they’ve sent us to work, and it’s our duty, as ethereal and non, to actually complete the task set out for us. These humans, they have no real drive to do tasks well and properly because their lives are small and insignificant. But us, we’re more than capable and have all the time we need to do things. And the people who have requested we do these things, they’re a higher power, higher than any mortal and human figure. They deserve our respect. They’re expecting a done job, and a done job done well.”   
Having finished talking, Cross looked turned his back over to Ambedous, expecting him to be listening.

What he hadn’t expected was that Ambedous wouldn’t be there.

He was still holding the back of the demon’s shirt collar, but that was it. It had torn off his shirt, apparently when he had pulled free and flown away without Cross knowing. He had been engrossed in his own speech and oblivious to everything else. He felt the feathers on his wings rising, with not specifically anger or embarrassment but just emotion.   
But he was pretty pissed.

“AMBEDOUS!”   
There was no reply.   
He shouted again, emphasizing each syllable in the demon’s name  
“AM-BE-DOUS! WHERE ARE YOU? DAMMIT!” After this, he shut his mouth, realizing he sounded… overly desperate. He flung his wings out and ran a few steps towards the edge of the cliff. Without pausing, he jumped off the edge, swooping outwards and diving down like a streamlined arrow. 

It had been a while since he had actually flown, flown like this. The ground rushed by in a startling blur. He pushed his wings out, fully. Their length made it much easier to angle himself upwards, and when he was far enough off the ground, beat his wings. 

The long length made each stroke powerful, and he shot upwards in moments. He had no idea if he’d actually be able to find Ambedous, but he’d certainly try. He’d certainly go up into the night sky.   
He can’t have possibly gone too far on those ruined wings of his he thought, and then immediately felt ashamed. 

What had made him run off like that? He supposed it was just another thing he did, another part of his childish attitude and persistent happiness.  
I don’t think that after what happened to him he’d want to be anything but happy ever again. 

Five minutes later and the demon was nowhere in sight.  
The angel had twisted around, calling his name over and over, his white wings nearly glowing against the black sky. Now he was drifting, about sixty feet in the air, silently gliding over the ocean. His mind was troubled, thoughts tripping over each other. He had now taken to blaming himself.   
It’s my fault. I pushed him away. I’m always so cold and angry.  
Why do I even care, anyways? He’s my work partner. Barely know him. I don’t care about him at all.  
He insisted he didn’t care about him at all, yet despite this his eyes began to feel hot.  
Ah. Shit shit shit.  
He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes with one hand, willing them to be dry, but tears still worked their way around his fingers.  
Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.  
There was a knot in his throat, and he was about to take a breath that would most likely be a shuddery sob-  
And he heard a voice.  
“Cross?”  
Cross looked up.   
He could see the silhouette of the demon, far above him. He was a black shape with ragged black wings on either side. Ambedous pulled his wings in and dropped, pushing them back out after a few moments to slow his fall to a gentle drift. He leveled himself with Cross, who had hastily shoved his sunglasses back on his face the second he had seen the demon. 

Ambedous looked at him. “Are you all right?” He asked, softly. Cross gave him the best withering stare he could manage behind his shades. “Yes.” He ground out. “Why?” Ambedous was still for a few moments, still staring at him, and then turned his head. “Nothing. Sorry.” He then seemed to notice how upset Cross was. “I… what’s wrong?” He hadn’t expected his skittering away would have upset Cross this much, and to be honest, he was slightly pleased. Not that he had upset Cross of course, but the fact that he had actually cared that the demon left.  
Don’t kid yourself. He gets upset about everything.  
Still…   
They were still, or at least as still as they could be. Both needed to beat their wings to keep aloft, and Ambedous had more difficulty catching the air. He stretched his wings as far out as possible, but still dipped slightly.

Pausing, the demon watched Cross expectantly.

He opened his mouth. “I-because we have work to do! You know, our job? They chose us for this and it’s important we do it.”   
Ambedous didn’t reply. His expression didn’t change. Or, perhaps he seemed to become… deflated. Sad, almost. The angel felt some kind of… disappointment in his aura. This was incredibly confusing. What had he said?  
“Cross…” The demon said slowly. “I mean… haven’t you figured it out yet?” Cross blinked. “Figured out what?”   
Ambedous folded his arms, leaning back into a sudden thermal draft that had begun to blow through the night air. He sighed, quietly. “That… they don’t care about us.” He lifted his head and looked at Cross. His voice quivered. “That none of this matters.”

Absolute silence.

“What the hell did you just say?”  
Ambedous winced. “I mean… you and I… we’re obviously… not who… we’re supposed to be. I guess… it’s just that I’m a demon, you know. Everyone expects me to be mean, and surly, and cruel, and cold. And… I dunno, bad? Evil? But I don’t want to be like that! I’m not like that! I act like… like an angel!” At this he closed his eyes tightly, as if that statement brought memories of pain. His wings shook in the wind, tattered.   
They don’t take cheerfulness kindly in hell.

His tail twisted around his leg, the tip tapping against his ankle. “And you…” he paused, biting his lip and twisting his fingers together nervously.   
Cross’ expression hardened. He ground his teeth. “It’s fine. I don’t care.”   
He looked away. “I… am… irritable. I’m not blatantly happy. I don’t smile and wave. I’m always upset about something. I act like one of yours. Mean.” He drew his wings in closer to himself, as much as he could without dropping. “So we’re defective. And they chose us for the job because…” He quieted, as if only now realizing the truth of what he was saying.   
“They sent us out to forget about us. There’s no use for us.” With this, he withdrew, dropping his head and stiffening. Ambedous had no idea what to say. “I… I mean.. that’s…”  
His breath stopped.  
The demon’s eyes were wide and his heart seemingly still. He was shocked. Because Cross was crying. He was holding his glasses in one hand and tears were streaming down his face. But he was smiling, weakly.  
“It’s true.” He said. “You can say it. It’s true.”   
Ambedous could only stare. His mouth had stopped working. The angel was crying. Never in a thousand years would he have imagined he might see an angel cry, yet here he was. And it was he who had caused it! Ambedous! Here he was, watching his tears fall, and Cross was saying something. Ambedous tuned in.  
“…right, that none of this matters. I don’t matter. I’m… worthless. I have no use.” Woah, now. This hadn’t been the demon’s intent, not to make him upset with himself. Oh dear. He reached out an arm to touch his shoulder, when what’s this? Cross folded in his wings tightly to his body. 

And fell. 

Ambedous, after another moment of pure shock, whipped his wings out and threw himself after Cross. 

Downwards was fast, quite fast, but they had been drifting higher and higher and were quite far up to begin with. Ambedous hadn’t had much experience with flying as he hadn’t really had the opportunity to do so, but he did know that he wouldn’t reach Cross if he fell like he was doing. Ambedous beat his wings several times, straining against the wind. 

He flung himself towards the angel until he was nearly at his level, and then he thrust out his wings-wincing as one small tear tore a little more-and stopped his descent. Cross was letting himself fall, face twisted, watching the ocean speed up towards them. Ambedous reached over and grabbed his arm, tightly. “CROSS!” He shouted. “I-I know we can’t die, but hitting the water’s going to hurt! Come on!” He shook him. Cross looked at him and shook his head. “I don’t care,” he mumbled. He’d lost his glasses, and his wide eyes were swimming with unshed tears. Ambedous grabbed him by both arms, looking at him, and sighed, which was lost in the wind. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said those things.” Cross had no reaction to being grasped so tightly. “Why not?” He said. “I was being an idiot. I had no idea what was going on.” He closed his eyes. Ambedous’ breath caught in his throat. “No, you weren’t. You were being… loyal and… you wanted to do your job properly and I respect that. You weren’t an idiot. Anyways, it’s all the fault of those… those assholes up in heaven who just shoved you out. Angels aren’t supposed to act like that. Demons, I can understand. But angels?” He gripped Cross even tighter. “And you’re not even bad! You just have an actual personality.” Cross turned his head and smiled. “Don’t go too far with the far-fetched compliments, Ambedous.”   
His name spoken through the angel’s lips nearly burned.   
He struggled to keep his aura under check. To dampen the emotions.   
“I don’t think you’re anything bad at all.”  
Too far. Too far. Stop.  
He lifted one hand to the angel’s face-

They hit the water. 

The demon was right, it did hurt. It stung, violently, all over Cross’ body, like he had been set on fire. A strange fire, because at the same time, he was freezing cold. The water was like ice, the sun having long since gone down leaving the water to cool. He struggled, mouth closed, but then paused, floating several feet down. He remembered he didn’t need to breathe, that he technically didn’t even have blood flowing, and calmed, looking around him for any sign of Ambedous. He couldn’t see him, although it was clearly going to be difficult to see someone in water that was completely black. Or rather, completely lacking in light. Either way, left, right, every angle, he couldn’t see him.   
Wait.  
Cross looked down. Ah, there he was. Down below. He’d let himself sink, and the look on his face-though Cross could barely make it out-seemed sad. Hm. His body still aching, Cross moved his wings, making himself float downwards. 

The cold water flowed through his suit, shivering over his warm body. The cold was jarring at first, and now he was beginning to go slightly numb. The water against the inside of his wings was absolutely freezing, bordering on painful. Wings were always quite hot after flight, and it was good to stand with them open to cool off for a while after getting back on the ground. But now he had been dunked in a large, frigid body of water, and even his feathers were numb. He dropped down to where Ambedous was. The water was quite deep. 

Ambedous watched Cross sink towards him with a feeling of despair. He didn’t want to be near him, risk doing what he had almost done moments earlier. Right before they had landed in the water.  
Saved by the bell, I suppose.   
The angel’s face was still twisted in self-loathing, much to the demon’s dismay. He still felt like it was his fault. Nothing to do now but continue to talk to him as they both slowly sank toward the ocean floor. He felt the desire to grab the angel by the lapels and pulled him closer, but he smothered the idea. Ambedous opened his mouth, unsure if they were even able to speak underwater. He tried. “You ok?”   
His voice came out clearly, if not a little muffled. He supposed it was because he wanted it to, and something as non-minded as water would easily bend to a celestial’s will.   
Cross seems unsurprised that Ambedous’ voice hadn’t come out in a gargle of bubbles. He neither nodded nor shook his head in response to the demon’s question. Instead, he reached out one hand and touched the front of Ambedous’ suit, feeling the soaked material beneath his numb fingertips. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For… falling. That was dumb.” He looked up. “You didn’t have to come after me.” A pause. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”  
“Because all you did was fall with me. What’s the point of that? You’re getting yourself wet for nothing. And… getting hurt.”   
“Not for nothing.”  
Silence.  
“You know,” began the demon, staring at Cross’ hand on his chest.  
“We may be… unimportant to them. I know I definitely am. And…” He looked at Cross nervously, not wanting to say it, hoping Cross would finish his sentence. He didn’t. Ambedous continued. “And you’re not important to them. Just to them.” But to me, you are, he wanted to add. “But… who cares about them? I mean, sure, they’re the highest of the higher-ups, but if they want nothing to do with us then we’ll have nothing to do with them. We…” he nervously ran a hand through his hair. “We can… stay out of the way. Here. I mean… it’s not that bad, right? Things can be better. I know they can be. We can… try and make the better of it.” He hoped he hadn’t gone too far. Cross was wide-eyed, not moving, staring at him like he had just told him he wanted to take all the stars from the sky and put them on earth. Ambedous stiffened. This is it. I’ve ruined everything. He waited for the angel’s features to contort in anger and disgust. He waited… and then… Cross picked up his hand from the demon’s chest and cupped it gently around his face. “You deserve to be an angel so, so, so much more than I do,” he mumbled.

Ambedous looked at him, wide-eyed. “I… “ was all he could say. 

He bit his lip, closing his eyes.

Fuck it. 

He pushed his own hand around Cross’ face, leaned in, and kissed him.

On Ambedous’ part, this had been slightly unexpected. He hadn’t considered himself to be so irrational. He had thought Cross hadn’t felt about him in that way. He, or so he had thought, was good at reading social cues. Or perhaps he wasn’t. This was telling him he wasn’t. 

What it was doing was sending a shockwave of warmth through his body, tingling at his fingertips which he lifted to the angel’s temple, pushing his fingers into his hair.   
It had been thousands of years since someone had last kissed him. 

There was no love in hell. Demons weren’t supposed to be able to feel love.   
But what was this, if it wasn’t love? 

On Cross’ part, though most definitely welcome, this had been entirely unexpected. His emotions were complex, and he was completely inexperienced with feeling things towards another person. Especially…   
A man?  
A demon?  
Just… a person. 

Ah, there it was. 

But, in the time he had spent with Ambedous, right off the bat he had felt something was different. Some… lacking. But not a bad lacking. Some kind of missing sense of discomfort. The kind he usually felt when interacting with anybody. And then there was the unmistakable warmth pooling in his chest when he heard him talk, and the way he felt when the demon smiled, the way his tail twirled back and forth. And ah, the fact that he had let the demon groom his wings with nearly no hesitation, and the way his hands had felt… his touch had been so gentle, and so warm, Cross had nearly died. Well, if that was possible. His touch had sent shivers down his spine. 

As it was now, not just down his spine but his whole body, even seeming to go down to the tips of his wings buzzing in the feathers where no nerves resided. He was kissing him back, of course, after a momentary pause of surprise at he had found himself. 

When Cross finally, reluctantly pulled away to stare into the demon’s eyes that somehow held all the emotion in the world while blank as a sheet of paper, he gave a weak grin. There was nothing he could think of to say. He’d just broken every rule he’d ever set for himself in order to distance his emotions from his life because they got in the way. 

When he had mourned the fall of an angel very close to him, he had been so upset and forlorn he’d missed a month of work. Of course, the other angels hadn’t minded, actually surprised the gruff angel had the capability to feel so strongly for someone. Cross had minded. He had minded very much. When he had actually slipped down to hell to possibly see the now-demon, he had come face-to-face with someone else. Someone who had been stripped of his memories of Cross and most else, who looked entirely different. He’d snarled for Cross to get out before Cross had even opened his mouth. He had complied, his eyes starting to burn with tears.

Long story short, making connections with people weren’t his thing. 

… 

After a pause, he realized Ambedous was pulling him closer into a tight embrace, his wings pushing out and wrapping around him.  
“Thank you,” he whispered.  
“For what?” Cross replied, quietly.  
“I don’t know. This. Everything. For being willing to… defy something that’s the very center of who you are.”  
Cross was quiet.  
And he put his arms around the demon, feeling the heat that radiated from his chest, feeling the love that wasn’t supposed to be there, and put his head on the demon’s shoulder.  
I have no fucking idea how to end this please kill me


End file.
